


A Logical Solution

by TakeMeOut



Series: Married To The Work [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Reader-Insert, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23032210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakeMeOut/pseuds/TakeMeOut
Summary: “I’m offering to have sex with you, Sherlock. I think you know me well enough to realise I’m not going to want anything more than that.” She smirks. “I may be many things, but I’m not a masochist.”Sherlock has been working with a criminal psychologist for some years. A woman who has been watching him, and who proposes a logical solution to the fact he's not quite working at full mental capacity.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Original Female Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/Reader
Series: Married To The Work [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709659
Comments: 5
Kudos: 136





	1. Chapter 1

“Factitious Disorder,” she says, frowning at the pins pushed into the map on the living room wall. “Sufferers have an obsession with being ill to the point of intentionally infecting themselves to receive treatment. It’s rare, but it would fit with the suspect’s movements.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes at the wall, and she stays silent for a while, knowing it’s pointless interrupting him while he’s thinking. He runs his hands through his hair, evidently frustrated that there are answers he hasn’t yet found, and eventually notices that she’s looking at him rather than at the wall. 

He glances uncertainly at her, blinks at the floor, and then looks towards her again. “Why are you watching me?”

She regards him calmly. “I was wondering how much of your mental capacity is taken up with suppressing your sex drive.” He blinks rapidly a few times before replying. “What makes you think I have any sexual impulses to suppress at all?”

She smiles faintly. “How long have we been working together, Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s nostrils flare slightly. “God, I don’t know. Ever since Scotland Yard’s finest decided the interference of a criminal psychologist might help me solve cases faster.” She raises one eyebrow, and he looks back at the wall, tacitly conceding the point. 

“Three years,” she says firmly. “I’ve had three years to observe you, Sherlock. You claim to be a high-functioning sociopath, but you know as well as I do that sociopathy isn’t a recognised psychiatric disorder - you only say that to wind Anderson up. But you are correct that you fit the bill for Antisocial Personality Disorder. Nonetheless you’re capable of occasional flickers of empathy, much as you’ve trained yourself to avoid it, so it's highly likely that your disorder is the product of your childhood environment rather than something inherent.”

Sherlock is looking positively mutinous now. “And your point is?” he says stiffly.

“My point,” she says patiently, “is that you’re no more likely than the rest of the population to be asexual, so given your age and gender there’s every likelihood you’re having to put a certain effort into quashing your natural impulses. Even if that’s only a small portion of your mental energy, it would still be having an impact on your ability to function at maximum capacity.”

Sherlock’s frown has deepened. “You crave stimulation and excitement, and shame isn’t a driving factor for you. So I’m going to guess,” she says, “that you’ve had sexual experiences in the past, and enjoyed them, but that potential or actual emotional complications have stopped you from continuing to take advantage of them.”

“Are you going to reach a conclusion any time soon,” says Sherlock frostily, “or can I get on with trying to solve this case?”

She smiles properly then. “I’m offering to have sex with you, Sherlock. I think you know me well enough to realise I’m not going to want anything more from you.” She smirks. “I may be many things, but I’m not a masochist.” 

He blinks again. “Why would you offer to have sex with me?” 

She looks at the buttons on his grey shirt straining against the lean muscle underneath, the smooth pale dip at the base of his throat, and the dark curls falling over his forehead, and laughs. “Because you’re beautiful, Sherlock, and I’m not the only woman who wants to see you naked and coming apart underneath me.”

He seems unable to form coherent words after that, so she gathers her coat and bag with a philosophical air. “I’ll leave it with you, Sherlock. The offer’s there if you want it, otherwise I’ll see you at the Yard tomorrow.”

She’s halfway down the stairs when Sherlock’s baritone reaches her. “Wait,” he says.


	2. Chapter 2

As she climbs back up the stairs, she sees Sherlock silhouetted in the doorway; he hesitates for a brief moment before stepping aside to let her back into the room.

He says nothing and doesn’t move, so she makes her point again. “No strings, Sherlock. Just sex. I like you, God only knows why, but I’m not about to fall in love with you.” She shrugs. “But it’s your choice. It’s just an offer.” 

He’s silent for a few moments. “I have to admit …” he clears his throat and his eyes flicker around the room. “There is a certain … potential … of physical and intellectual compatibility …” He trails off, looking uncertainly at the floor, so she steps forward and kisses him gently. 

For a moment he doesn’t move, body rigid and eyes tightly shut. She’s about to step away, worried she’s moved too fast, when one hand comes to rest on her hip and his lips begin to respond. He pulls her closer to his body, tense muscles slowly uncoiling, as she nips lightly at his soft, full lower lip. The first touch of his tongue against hers has her swallowing down a moan, and she’s quickly lost in the slow, delicious slide of his tongue against hers. 

Kissing Sherlock is exactly as she’d hoped it would be; every movement is confident and assured in stark contrast to his inability to talk about the subject. She feels warmth pool between her legs as his hunger becomes more apparent, the kisses becoming deeper and more urgent. 

She leans into the warmth that emanates through his thin shirt and tangles her fingers in his hair, tugging experimentally. His breath hitches and his hips nudge into her, his hardness pressing into her belly and sending a bolt of desire down to her cunt. 

Sherlock breaks away from the kiss, breathing heavily, and leans his forehead against hers as though concentrating deeply. “Bed?” she suggests, and he makes a faint noise of agreement deep in his throat and leads her into the bedroom; she fishes briefly in her bag along the way and pulls out a condom. 

“Undress for me,” he says, his deep voice developing a rough edge she’s never heard before. He watches as she complies, and the intensity of his gaze across her body has the hair on the back of her neck standing up. She lies back against the bed as Sherlock unbuttons his shirt and slips his trousers and underwear off. 

Naked, Sherlock is just as beautiful as she’d suspected. His lean body is sinewy and strong, a sparse dusting of dark hair leading down from his navel to his erect cock which stands out flushed and dark against his pale skin. He covers her body with his and kisses her unhurriedly, before his mouth slides away from hers and down her neck and collarbones to suck gently at her breasts. She arches into his skin, desperate to touch more of him, but he slides down her body to lick lightly at her folds. 

Her hips tilt up towards his mouth, but Sherlock holds her down firmly with one hand as he sucks on her clit and slides his tongue inside her. He watches her intently as he reads every uncontrolled reaction across her face and body, but eventually his eyes roll shut as he loses himself in the taste of her. 

She’s breathless and inarticulate by the time he crawls back up her body, the muscles in his shoulders surging over each other in an almost feline manner. He takes his cock in one hand, rolls the condom onto it and holds it against her cunt; she’s dripping and desperate but he has a look in his eye that she’s familiar with, and she knows it’s no use begging him. Long seconds go by while he watches the rapid pulse in her neck and her muscles twitching with the effort of keeping control. 

Sherlock’s eyes narrow slightly and the faintest hint of a smile crosses his face, and he pushes inside her with one quick thrust as her toes curl against the sheets with pleasure. Despite his self-control, he quickly loses himself in the sensation and begins to thrust rapidly against her.

His analytical nature has vanished, and he’s given himself over to the pursuit of primal pleasure; it’s delicious to see him so uninhibited as he throws his head back in gratification. He groans and collapses down onto her, and the vibrations from his soft pale throat hum across her skin. It’s this that finally pushes her over the edge, and her mouth gapes soundlessly as the intensity of her orgasm floods through her body. 

He gives a few short, hard thrusts and then he’s coming too, moaning helplessly as he pushes his mouth against hers until he’s finished. She wraps herself round him and gives a deep, satisfied belly laugh as he collapses bonelessly against her, smirking and gasping for breath. 

They lie with sweaty limbs tangled together for a few moments, but suddenly, his whole body tenses and he sits up. She raises herself onto her elbows in alarm. “Sherlock? What is it?” 

He leaps off the bed without replying and dashes naked into the living room to look again at the map on the wall, pushing the heels of his hands into his temples in revelation. “That’s it!” he shouts down the corridor. “It makes complete sense!” 

Sherlock grabs his phone, dials a number urgently and begins to bark instructions at Lestrade, and she smiles wryly to herself as she rolls off the bed and begins to pull on her clothes.


End file.
